


In the Kill Zone

by Except_on_Tuesday



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Gen, Hurt Gavin Reed, Implied/Referenced Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Upgraded Connor | RK900, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Is Bad at Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Except_on_Tuesday/pseuds/Except_on_Tuesday
Summary: It was faster, stronger, more resilient, and equipped with the latest technologies.  Built for war, the RK900 would never change.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 109





	In the Kill Zone

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place some time after Without a Sound, but can stand alone.

“Get outta here!”

Nines ignored the order and continued to work at the welded metal that held Detective Reed captive. The once shiny silver, reinforced steel cuffs had been blackened and melted around the detective’s wrists and welded to the iron wall of the giant junkyard trash compactor.

Blood from Gavin’s burned and mangled skin ran down his sleeves and stained his filthy and torn shirt. His teeth grit against the pain flaring through his wrists and arms with each tremor of the approaching machine that rattled the walls and filled the air with a monotonous metal on metal screech. “D—mmit, just go! You got the evidence.” He kicked out at the android, catching him in the thigh. “Go!”

Nines did not flinch from the blow to a limb designed to withstand mortar shells. He looked coolly at the panting, trapped human whose molten-emerald eyes were wild as a storm-tossed sea.

“No, detective.”

//Flashback//

“I am not taking orders from a sergeant.”

Those had been the RK900’s first words upon learning that instead of working with the lieutenant—Hank Anderson of the Red Ice Taskforce was a known name even to Nines’ limited civil experience—or at least with the RK800. He’d rather not have a partner at all, but Captain Fowler was insistent.

He would be partnering with the scruffiest, laziest sergeant ever to crawl out of a police station breakroom.

He’d caught a brief scan of the man earlier that week. Loud, obnoxious, incapable of a close shave, an old, badly healed scar trailed over his face, itself scrawled over with a perpetual scowl. His desk was a mess of paperwork and tablets and precariously perched coffee cups, stacked one atop the other as if they counted the passing hours as well as the precinct clock. Better, for that clock ran slow.

The man was not worth the respect or abilities of an advanced military prototype android.

Nines turned his attention to the DPD Captain. “I am not taking orders from that sergeant.”

“You’re taking orders from me.” Captain Fowler said, the frustration tightened the deepening lines around his eyes and mouth. “You aren’t a captain here. And Detective Reed outranks you. Deal with—

The captain cut himself off and he gripped an orange rubber stress ball and squeezed it until it smooshed out between his fingers. When he spoke again, his tone was measured. “Give him a chance.”

“This is an affront to my pride and dignity and abilities.” The android did not look pleased; his deep melodic tone was sharpened by an edge.

Fowler smirked tiredly. “Welcome to the DPD.”

\--

His shadow fell over the human leaning back in the desk chair, legs stretched out on the only clear space on the desk.

“Capt’n told ya the news, huh?” Detective Reed didn’t look up from his phone.

Nines’ advanced optics easily saw the slight tremor in the man’s hand.

_Good. You should fear me._

“We shall be partners for the next eight weeks. I reserve the right to terminate the agreement at any time.”

The man’s brow furrowed, a frown replaced the scowl and he craned his neck to look up at the tall android, laying the phone screen down on his leg. “Any time?” He smirked. “So things get rough an’ you back out—

Powerful fingers twisted in Gavin’s jacket lapels and yanked him bodily out of the chair, it clattered to the floor along with the phone as his back collided with the wall and he was pinned a whole foot off the ground.

“I am NOT a coward!” The RK900’s deep throated roar burst through the bullpen’s general commotion and he slammed the human against the wall again. “I—

“HEY!” The dark-skinned human that sat across from Reed’s desk was on his feet and about to draw his weapon at the same time a tiny female appeared in his periphery.

“Put him down.” She ordered. Her hands were open, but she carried a tense energy that registered in RK900’s programming as: [Threat Level: YELLOW]

“Stan’ down.” Detective Reed ordered the two cops.

_Peculiar. No trace of fear._

Nines held Reed in place another second; then, motionless as a statue, he opened his fingers and dropped the man. The detective staggered forward; Nines shoved him back against the wall with the edge of his hand, one of the few portions of his body with limited sensors—he already knew more than he wanted about the sloppy, unkempt human.

But a medley of details trickled through his palm sensors, picked up from the jacket’s surface: grease, sweat, food particles, blood, a touch of aftershave. A sneer of distaste curled his lips and he wiped his hands on his pant legs.

“You good, Gavin?” The male officer who’d nearly drawn his service weapon asked.

“I’m fine.” The sergeant straightened his jacket and fixed the hood to lay flat across his back with a flip of his hands. “Doom machine’s got a sore spot.”

Nines’ aggression protocols flooded his processes and overran his weak restraint protocols. “You mouthy f—

The reinforced polymer and steel fist would have broken the man’s face if not for the interposed hand that chopped it away.

“Stop.” The smooth, boyish voice colored the word as a warning, a plea, an order, a threat.

The RK900 stepped back, clenched his fists and met the mahogany brown optics of his predecessor. “Connor.” It was the other machine’s designated label, but he’d taken it as his preferred name.

“Nines.”

His own chosen abbreviation, holding just enough of his past to let it always stand at his heels. A tattoo of shame.

“Sh—t,” An older voice drawled, “We havin’ a party?” Hank Anderson waved the two patrol cops away. He set a hand on Connor’s shoulder, gently moving the smaller android out of Nines’ line of sight. “You’ll have to save it for later. Got some calls about found bodies. Reed your lead.” Even as he spoke, he gave a level stare at the large android. “Hands to ourselves while we’re on the clock, kiddos. Reed, you good?”

Coming back to life with a scowl, Reed shoved through the little crowd around him. “Whatever.”

“Gavin, you good?” Hank repeated, grabbing the other man’s bicep and stopping him from disappearing through the exit to the lobby.

The sergeant jerked away, “I’m fine!”

\--

From the dark five ‘o clock to the worn out jacket to the scar across his face, this new partner was second-hand and ill-used. Nines’ already low-level social integration rating decreased in direct correlation to his proximity to the man. When they questioned witnesses, the civilians looked from one to the other and, six times out of ten, broke down in tears—useless.

Once, a child they were questioning broke into hysterical wailing.

Nines looked at Detective Reed, intending to attempt to break the man’s cocky self-assurance with cold disparagement. Instead, the man was looking at him, gesturing at the child with both hands. He looked on the verge of saying, ‘do something,’ but then the social worker came and took the upset child away.

“Well, hell.” Reed said. “See what ya did?”

For the second time that week, Reed was slammed into a wall, though he evaded the first lunge this time. “Do you always blame others for your errors?” Nines hissed. “Or are you blind to the extent of your idiocy?”

“I was talkin’,” Reed choked against the arms pressed against his throat, “T’m’self.”

_Oh._

\--

But still.

The man didn’t even have an understanding of basic posture. He draped himself over any surface regardless of propriety or seemingly even of comfort offered. Currently, he sprawled over the evidence room console, arms dangling over it, cheek pressed against the console’s warm surface as lazy fingers swiped through the menus.

 _Like a d—mn cat._ Nines thought, impatiently waiting for the man to access the next evidence locker. He’d do it himself, but his access was still restricted during this probationary term. He could easily break through the firewalls, but he forced himself to play nice. _For now._ “Locker number 43.7750021.” He repeated.

“Yeah, yeah.” Detective Reed deliberately stretched Nines’ patience.

Detective Reed had been tetchier for the entire day after their altercation; and today, the detective seemed determined to push that button again.

But the android refused to give the odd human the satisfaction of provoking his temper. No matter how badly he wished he could crush this arrogant little human into proper submission to a superior being.

“What number wasit?”

Nines eyed the evidence locker and wondered how long it would take him to manually retrieve the evidence. Then he preconstructed a pleasurable fantasy of throwing the detective between the crushing walls and making it look like an accident. Then maybe the Captain would give him a proper partner.

//End flashback//

Nines glanced at the ever-approaching wall of the trash compactor. There were no exposed gears or cracks he could wedge his body in to prevent its deadly arrival. He looked at the trapped hands, the broken fingers; the knife concealed in his boot would be an easily solution.

“D-don’t y’dare phckin’ do it.” Gavin hissed, his eyes fixed on the android’s hand that had drifted toward its boot. “I’d rather die.”

“That is illogical.” But he would save it as a last resort. He tapped the brain and blood-splattered PVC pipe against the side of his leg as he considered his least destructive options that would leave the man temporarily rather than permanently disabled.

The human turned his head and watched the approaching wall with something like defiance. A few more minutes and the maintenance door would be covered by the moving wall.

They’d both be trapped.

Nines knew his frame would be badly damaged, but the compactor’s overload prevention mechanisms would retract the wall before he was irreversibly damaged. He would lay in a pile of damaged limbs and shattered casing, alongside whatever puddle of mashed bones and guts remained of the human he was attempting to rescue. _No. I will rescue him. We are all getting out._

“Just go.” Gavin’s voice was low. “The case...is more important.”

Nines muttered as he wedged the PVC pipe between Reed’s bound wrists.

“Mmppphfk.” The low groan of pain escaped Gavin’s tight lips and he writhed against the wall as the pipe found leverage against the fragile bones in his wrists, the steel cuffs, and the iron wall.

“Don’t tell me what is important.”

“Y’viously don’t know what’is.”

Without warning, Nines levered the pipe with a brutal sideways thrust.

A cry of pain, a wet crack of bone and the dry snap of metal and plastic echoed in the giant box enclosed around them. The broken cuffs clattered to the ground.

Nines threw aside the pipe, it fell with a hollow thud, and rolled against the ever-moving wall, only a few meters away now. He caught the barely conscious detective, limp with pain, in one arm.

//Flashback//

Nines’ advanced biocomponents were impervious to any rise in heat originating in his own processes; it would take a massive external heat source to effect any significant changes in his temperature, but his partner spun his processor into a loop of frustration that came close to causing an uptick in his temperature gauges.

“Don’t touch my coffee.”

“Hey, doom machine...”

“Outta the way.”

“You don’t drive.”

“Spook-face...”

“Hold this.”

“Phckin’ long-legged skyscraper....”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Ey, Skylab...”

“Get that.”

“Stand over there.”

“Carry this.”

“Stand back.”

“Move.”

“Don’t touch that.”

“Shut up.”

\--

Every available unit and detective were ordered to the scene of a murder suicide of a family of six.

The streetlights flared and faded as they crossed Detective Reed’s face in rapid progression as he drove to the scene. Moments before the call, he’d been laughing at some idiotic, petty criminal’s attempts to escape the RK900’s pursuit.

Now all trace of humor was gone.

Nines strode ahead after they arrived, leaving the human to struggle against the flood of bystanders and reporters.

He lost track of the detective for several hours. It was not until the scene was clearing and the reporters were sucking up the last dredges of human agony, that he saw Detective Reed again in the apartment complex’s community parking lot. The man was sitting on the hood of his car, one knee pulled up against his chest, scrapped up hands clasped around his leg. His bowed head conveyed a silent sorrow to the empty lot.

\--

A CI had told them of a potential lead. It sounded good. Detective Reed was out the door as soon as he got the call, refusing to lose even a minute.

They arrived at the location.

“Stand back, Auto-Man.” Gavin shouldered past the android and jogged up the house steps, keeping to the far side. “I got—

The rest of the hated sentence was lost in a shotgun blast and teargas. Masked figures burst from the house, sweeping the lawn with bullets from a motley assortment of semi-automatic rifles. When the commotion cleared, there was silence except for the smell of burned rubber and the squeal of tires. 

Nines had not moved. His frozen processes loaded and reloaded his basic programs, retrieved reports of minor injuries to his chassis. His post-battle program pinged him with a notification of a report ready for viewing.

He stared at the bullet casings and trampled grass, the smear of blood on the stairs, the absence and silence. His temperature reported perfect levels. But a phantom chill remained in the void where Detective Reed was supposed to stand.

He opened the report.

They’d dragged his wounded, struggling partner away.

While he stood in the middle of a system crash.

The detective never called out for help.

He hadn’t expected to receive it.

\--

//End flashback//

“D-d—mn you....phcking.......broke my hand...”

“You’ll heal.” Nines said as he kept a firm grip around the man’s waist; the sweaty, heaving sides pressed against his own body triggered the android’s sensitive tactile sensors and in an unwanted instant he had a full biological map of the detective in his arms. Of the old and new scar tissues traced across the epidermis, each repaired bone and tendon, various vitamin deficiencies, the scarred lungs fighting for air, the pounding heart, the rare blood type, the man’s entire genetic structure. Like a snap, the information lodged in his head and filed into a designated location.

“Stop complaining and use your legs.” Nines half-carried, half-dragged the man through their escape passage moments before the trash compactor slid past.

\--

Days later.

The criminal looked up when the towering android stood before the cell. “The f—k you lookin’ at?” He growled. “F—ing tincan.”

Nines opened the door and held up the bloody handcuffs that had trapped his partner. “Who ordered you to kidnap Detective Reed and trap him?”

The man spat at Nines’ polished shoes. “I don’t havta talk to you. I got lawyers.”

“Yes.” Nines said. “But not even the best lawyers can resurrect a dead man.”

“Y-you’re a cop.” The coward stuttered as the android drew nearer. “You, you can’t hurt me.”

“No. The cop was the man you tortured and tried to kill by throwing him in the trash. He wanted to find you and lock you up. But I don’t particularly care about such civilities.” Nines’ lips parted in a slow smile that showed a row of perfectly white teeth.

The attempted murderer scrambled away to the corner of the cell.

But Nines’ head tilted toward the cell entrance; two quick strides and he was outside the cell, the door locked with a click and hiss, the cuffs were hidden away in his jacket. “Good evening, Detective.” He said, turning to greet the man coming down the stairway.

Gavin’s eyes were slightly fogged from the pain medication for his broken wrist which was braced and cradled in a tight sling across his chest. He wore his jacket one-armed; the other half hung over his other shoulder giving him a down-dressed appearance that dropped his ‘agro-rate’ by several hefty points. The askew hood made Nines’ software flare with prompts to adjust it.

“Anderson took m’keys.” Gavin tried to gesture over his shoulder with his damaged hand, winced and awkwardly went for a small sideways backward hop instead, gesturing with his whole body. “Said ya had t’do the drivin’.”

“I am coming.” Nines leveled a steady glare at the criminal who’d gotten closer to the glass to leer at the wounded detective.

The prisoner hissed quietly. “They’ll get the lil b—ch good next time.” He trailed a thick wet tongue over the glass. “Real good.”

‘WHUMP’

He fell back, face contorted by fear when a heavy fist slammed against the cell’s clear wall, thrumming the heavy-duty material in its frame and leaving an opaque blemish in its perfectly clear surface.

Nines towered before the criminal. His fist flattened and his fingers curled to claws which he dragged down the viewing glass, nails scratching fine lines in the surface. The thin partition fogged with the warmed air from his ventilation components. “One day, this wall won’t be between us.” The words dropped softly from the android.

“Ey, Auto-man?” Gavin’s shout came from the stairwell. “What’s goin’ on?”

Raising his voice, Nines said, “Nothing, detective.” He turned and strode away, meeting Gavin, who’d started down the hall, curiosity in his expression. “I said it was nothing.” Nines repeated and strong-armed the inquisitive detective back around toward the stairwell.

The criminal crept back and pressed his face against the window and watched as the dangerous machine put a hand against the detective’s back, mid-spine.

The detective tried to skitter away from the touch, but the android moved his hand to the human’s shoulder and drew the resistant detective closer to his side, ignoring the hostile growls.

“Stop squirming.” The order was tinted with exasperation. “I am only attempting to adjust this sling. You have loosened it again.”

“Pfft. Don’t need yer hel—OW!”

Nines put the hood to rights as well. Gavin contrarily shook it awry again. “Don’t touch me.” He muttered, breaking away; he hurried up the steps ahead of the RK900, disappearing through the door and slamming it behind him.

Or at least he tried. The door refused to close.

He looked up, inquiringly, and saw Nines in the way gently pushing the door open again with one hand, the other folded casually at his back.

Gavin scowled and slammed himself against the door.

The screech of pain echoed through the DPD Central Station.

“Detective, how can you repeatedly forget that you have a broken wrist?”

“Get outta the phckin’ doorway!”

“I will once you step back.”

“Why doncha just—‘ey ‘ey ‘ey! Ya frickin’ national monument! Don’t walk ‘way fr’me!”

“I thought we established that leaving you is the last thing I will do.”

“Phckin’ creepy...creep.....metal...doom machine...”

_Yes._

Nines stared at the fuming detective, one arm in a sling, wrapped in an old hooded jacket. A fragile creature of a limited lifespan—probably had another ten or fifteen years provided it wasn’t halted by a bullet or cut with a knife or blasted to fragments by a bomb or drained by poison or any other threat that faced a human of its profession and proclivity for danger—a creature who devoted its life to clawing and fighting and digging through the refuse and filth of humanity.

 _‘They'll get the lil b—ch good next time. Real good._ ’

Nines looked at his hand, undamaged from the force he’d exerted against that cell door. He could have broken through the partition. Caught that slime by the neck and snapped its back with hardly a thought.

Prisons could be broken; walls destroyed.

_But I will never break. Never be destroyed._

He silently thanked CyberLife for his flawless always battle-ready software, his cruel strength and broad, towering form. For now, he would play nice in the civilian world; for now, he would dance to the DPD’s tune of law and order.

But he would cast aside civility, stop the dance of idealistic fools to stand between his little detective-sergeant and whatever malice stalked from the shadows—past, present, or future.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by readers' comments (especially by a recent comment by Bleedingsoul01 regarding RK900's "trash cat").
> 
> A little out of tune with my usual assortment of fics, but I was in the mood for something moderately cheerful.


End file.
